


High Kings and Queens

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: Quentin and Alice are trapped with Eliot and Margo on the Muntjac. Set during "23". Psychedelic cookies are involved.





	High Kings and Queens

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. Apparently, I ripped off the band-aid and now fics are just pouring out after a very long dry spell. I just liked the idea of them all being high on the boat with ensuing wackiness. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for any comments!

Quentin was bored. Turned out, being trapped on a magical flying boat was _boring_. Margo and Eliot didn’t seem to mind, chatting along in some secret pop culture language, him lounging with his long legs propped up on her lap. Alice seemed to be content ignoring them all, sitting apart and reading from some book she had found on the history of the radish smuggling underground. Quentin had been so caught up in questing for months now, always the next key driving him forward, that even during his long sojourn with Eliot they had the mindfuck of the puzzle to fill the time. And then, later, when Teddy came, they didn’t really have much time for anything at all. He tried pushing down the thought as soon as it surfaced, but still felt the tug somewhere in the middle of his chest. He wondered idly if Eliot still had stray thoughts like this, but they hadn’t even had time to process what had happened. Now was not the time, not with the others watching. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood, making his way over to the window, watching the Fillorian countryside slip by in a swath of green.

“Q’s bored.” Eliot announced to the room.

Margot snorted. “Jesus Christ, Coldwater. You are on a magical flying boat in a magical fucking land. Just fucking _enjoy it.”_  


Quentin half turned to regard them. “I didn’t say anything!”

Eliot laughed, swinging his legs down onto the floor. “No, but you were thinking too loud.”

Quentin felt a momentary creeping panic that Eliot had heard his thoughts, but then remembered that there was no magic here, and besides, Eliot had never been a psychic. “Hilarious.”

“I try.” Eliot stood, making his way towards the bags Josh had brought them with food from Earth, poking around at the contents. “Anyone hungry?”

“Starving!” Margo stood, her long dress awkwardly hampering her movements. Quentin wondered why she and Eliot didn’t ask them to bring more comfortable clothes, but he guessed their commitment to the royal Fillorian fashion game was strong. She made her way to Eliot. “What’d he bring us?”

Eliot shrugged. “Looks like…sandwiches.” He rummaged some more. “And, cookies!”

“Gimme!” Margo held out her hands, easily catching the cookie Eliot tossed to her. She took a big bite and moaned. “Oh, yes, fuck me, Hoberman!”

They spent the next half hour or so tucking into the food, mildly giving Quentin shit for not being able to recap ‘Project Runway’ and ‘Real Housewives’. Not really his thing. Alice joined them, but she still sat a bit away, never really entering the conversation. Margo was right—the cookies really were good.

Time began to spool out again, everyone retreating to their corners. Alice to her book, Margo and Eliot back to their easy banter. Quentin alone with his thoughts.

Just when boredom threatened again, Quentin began to sense something else. Something _good_. Everything was suddenly warm and soft, and he felt like he was being hugged from the inside. He ran his hands along his arms, wrapping them around himself with a slow smile.

But then, he felt a sudden compulsion to share his theory on alternate timelines, so he leapt up and began speaking rapidly. “So, so, so, so…ok. So. OK. So. We’ve all lived in like what…I mean…like 40 different timelines right?” He was pacing around, wildly waving his hands in the air in front of him. “OK. So, at any given time, there are at least 40 different versions of us out there, right?” He looked around at everyone else, trying to get his point across by sheer force of will. “So. So. So. And, _and_ we were in a whole different timeline, right?” He directed this towards Eliot, who was silently tracking him with his eyes. Quentin pressed on. “Ok. So…SO…does that make the timeline we were in,” indicating between the two them rapidly with his hand, “like timeline 41? Or or or or OR timeline _negative_ one?” He felt he like he had just shared an impossibly profound pearl of wisdom.

Eliot stared at him for what seemed to be a very long time before answering, his voice barely a whisper. “I am…tripping…massive…balls.”

Margo apparently found this to be the funniest thing she had ever heard, keening almost sideways out off of the couch, and Quentin found her laughing at this to the be the funniest thing _he_ had ever heard, bending over at the waist, unable to stave the torrent of giggles. Shit. What had he been talking about?

Alice got up then, and very, very carefully made her way over to the window, gripping at the walls so tightly her knuckles went white. Quentin suddenly remembered she didn’t even like being drunk, it was all about the loss of control for her, so whatever shit that must have been in those cookies was tweaking her the fuck out.

He walked over towards her, finding it very hard to balance, like he was in an old episode of Star Trek and the ship was listing sideways “Um.” He cleared his throat, opening his arms wide for balance. “Um?” She kept her back to him and shook her head quickly no, not releasing her death grip on the window frame. He shrugged. “Ooook.” He spun back around theatrically, but had overcorrected and ended up landing on his ass. He was momentarily stunned, until the giggles came back. “Oops.” He laid all the way back then, staring up at the ceiling, the other's laughter washing over him. Nope. The ship’s perpetual motion made him nauseous in this position, so he shifted up onto his elbows.

Margo was playing with her hair, repeatedly slipping her fingers between the long strands. Quentin found himself mesmerized by this. Her hair was just so…impossibly…shiny. “You have the best hair,” he blurted out.

Eliot slowly nodded, reaching over and slipping his fingers into to her long, dark curls. “You do have the best hair, Bambi.” Quentin could tell he was trying very hard not to slur his words.

“I mean,” Quentin looked around at everyone, “you guys all have _great_ hair. But Margo has like _Disney princess_ hair. Is that why she’s Bambi?”

“Oh Q.” Eliot looked over at him, shaking his head, hand still tangled in Margo’s hair. “The eyes. Oh.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “Eye. Singular. Sorry, Bambi.”

She just smiled at him indulgently, turning around and leaning her head towards him, wordlessly requesting a head massage. He obliged, and her eye fluttered closed.

Quentin giggled to himself again. “But, why not…Harry?” They were all laughing so hard like this was the funniest fucking joke in the whole world. He really should quit his day job.

“Harry!” Eliot choked out between giggles, swiping at the tears springing from his eyes. “Because of the …hair. Oh fuck. _Harry_!”

Margo sat up, suddenly serious. “Guy. Guys?” She swayed upwards to standing, hiking her dress at an angle to accommodate this movement, holding out her other arm out for balance. “Guys. You guys. You know what we need?” She looked between them, obviously about to tell them something very important. “Music!” She clapped her fingertips together, pleased.

“Uh, Bambi?” Eliot sat up, hands planted on his knees. “One problem. This bitch ain’t wired for sound.”

‘Shh, El!” Margo put her finger exaggeratedly over her mouth and turned towards him with reproach. “This proper lady is _no one’s_ bitch.”

Quentin staggered upwards, suddenly remembering. “Oh my God, you guys! I have music!” He lurched over towards his messenger bag and pulled out his iPhone, waving it in the air.

Margo stumbled over and collided with him, grabbing his phone. “Lemme see that. I don’t trust your music taste.”

“Hey!” Quentin protested, gripping her shoulder for balance.

She flipped through his collection. “Ugh. Taylor Swift? Katy Perry? _Lady Gaga?_

Quentin shrugged, unsteady on his feet. “I was going through a phase.”

“Ah. Here we…go.” A light guitar plinked the intro. _Blame it all on my roots, showed up in boots. And I ruined your black tie affair._

“Garth Brooks?” Eliot wasn't even trying to hide his disdain.

“This is my _jam_!” Margo started swaying to the music. “This was my sorority song.” This small bit of information came as no real surprise to Quentin. She began to sing along out of tune.

“Tri Delta. Everyone else has.” Eliot responded drily.

“I’ll have you know, I was a Kappa.” Margo proclaimed proudly, beginning to sing along again. Quentin swung his arm around her shoulder, joining in, completely out of key but not caring.

Eliot heaved himself upwards. “Well. That changes _everything_ ". He began swaying along as well.

“Nononononono.” Alice whipped around, arms pressed tightly against the wall. “I have to get out of here.” Her voice was laced with panic. “I have to get out of here!”

Shit. They had forgotten about Alice. “Hey. Hey.” Quentin made his way over to her, holding his hands out in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Hey. You’re ok.”

“No, Quentin. This is _wrong_! So very fucking wrong!”

She was looking around frantically for an exit.

Someone had hit pause on the music.

“Hey.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away out of reach. “It’s going to be ok. You’re just having a bad trip.” He looked over at his friends helplessly.

“There are bottles of water in the bag.” He could tell Eliot was trying to keep his voice calm and steady in an effort to soothe her. Or, he was just high AF.

“Come on.” Quentin reached out for her shoulder, and she moved away, again, but then finally let him catch her. “It’s going to be ok. You just need some water. And, to sleep this off. Come on.” He slid his hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the sleeping quarters towards the back of the ship. He snagged a bottle of water with the fingers of his free hand along the way.

The room was dark and cool as the curtains were drawn, a huge bed covered in pillows and finery occupying the center. He guided her to the side and she spun around, sitting quickly on the edge. He kneeled in front of her, offering the bottle. “I don’t like this. At all.” She seemed on the verge of tears, eyes very wide and pupils blown.

“I know, I know. It’s gonna be ok though.” He wasn’t sure if he should reach out and touch her, if that would even be welcomed. “Just drink some water and lie down.” He heard the music start up again in the other room and he glanced back towards it, shaking the bottle lightly in her direction. “Here. Take this.”

She finally did, sucking down the water in long pulls, collapsing the plastic sides of the bottle inwards with a crackle. When she had her fill, she set down the bottle by her side on the bed, the plastic walls retracting back to its original shape in the _most_ fascinating way.

Quentin realized he must have been staring at the bottle as he felt her eyes on his face. “Um. Better?” She took in a deep, steadying breath and nodded. He stood up. “Come here.” He lightly pushed her knees over so that she could lie down, taking the bottle from her hand and depositing on the bedside table. He then took her shoes off, placing them on the floor, and wrapped a thin blanket around her. She had taken off her glasses and her eyes were closed. He spied a small waste basket nearby, so he pulled it over to the bed. _Just in case._ He walked back over the door, glancing back at her, but she seemed to already be lost to sleep.

“Thanks.” She mumbled thickly as he closed the door, making his way back out into the main cabin.

Eliot and Margo appeared to be _tangoing_ , if that what it was called, him spinning her out and then reeling her back in. She threw her head back, laughing deliriously. Quentin smiled and closed his eyes, swaying along and bobbing his head. His eyes jerked open when a small hand pulled at his, and Margo spun him around, forcing him to dance with her. He stumbled a bit, unsure on his feet and occasionally crashing into her, but she was determined and who was he to argue? Eliot for his part had started slowly spinning around in a circle, waving hands in the air, reminding Quentin absurdly of the hokey-pokey. Margo suddenly shoved Quentin towards Eliot, and he stumbled again. Eliot grabbed his hands, pulling him in close, spinning them rapidly around and around and around. For the big finish, Eliot dipped him low, a bit too far. They both crashed to the ground, limbs tangled together in an ungainly heap. They sat there in stunned silence for a brief moment, glancing at each other but otherwise not moving. The song came to an end.

Margo threw her arms wide and addressed the heavens. “Oh my god. Will you two just get it over with and _fuck_ already?”

For some reason, this was the most hilarious thing she could have possibly said, and they were both immediately wracked with the worst case of the giggles, clinging to each other, weak with laughter. Margo had started another song. _Do you ever feel, like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind, wanting to start again._ She was dancing with herself, arms wrapped around her midsection. They just kept on laughing, when one would finish, the other’s continued giggles setting them off again. After what seemed like a long time, they finally gained control. Quentin was out of breath, gulping in air. “Huh.” He took in another breath, and was acutely aware that Eliot was studying his face. “Hmm.” He licked at the corner of his mouth absently, chancing a look towards Eliot. They were both staring now, open-mouthed, breaths audible. Quentin found he had little capacity to comprehend what was even happening at this point. If they just leaned forward, just a few inches. Like they had dozens of times before. Hundreds. He licked at his lips, eyes darting to the side, only to feel them dragged back upwards towards Eliot with an almost magnetic pull. Neither man moved.

Margo marched over then, holding her hand out towards Eliot impatiently, waggling her fingers at him. “You two are such fucking idiots.” She snatched Eliot’s hand and levered him up off the ground, and he immediately wrapped them into a slow dance, like lovers. Quentin thought he had never seen something so beautiful in his whole life.

He sprung to his feet, walking with a sense of urgency towards them. Eliot opened his arm welcoming him in. Quentin leaned heavily into Eliot’s side, wrapping his other hand around Margo’s head and pulling her to rest on his other shoulder. “You guys?” He looked first at Eliot, then Margo. “I have to tell you something. It’s really, _really_ important.” They were all swaying in a little makeshift circle, Margo and Eliot silently waiting. “I just.” He took a large, exaggerated breath. “I just really love you guys.”

Margo huffed a laugh. “Oh, honey, we know.”

“Do you?” He looked at her beseechingly. Did they? He _really_ needed them to know this. “I mean, like I really,” he swung to look directly at Eliot, “love you.”

Eliot smiled at him tenderly. “Yeah,” he said softly. Solemnly. Margo leaned over and lightly kissed Quentin on the cheek.

From the direction of the bedroom, even over the music, they began to hear the distinct sounds of someone losing their cookies. “Ohhhh, shit.” Quentin stepped back from the circle, wiping his hand over his face. Shit. “Guess this one’s mine, huh?”

“Definitely not mine.” Margo shook her head.

“Nope…huh uh.” Eliot held his hands up and backed away a step.

Quentin sighed heavily. “Um. Towels??”

Eliot pointed at a large basket near the table. “In there.”

Quentin walked over and pulled out a small washcloth, fishing out another water bottle out of the bag. He opened the door towards the sleeping cabin, finding Alice holding her hair back with one hand, spitting into the garbage can he was extraordinarily glad he had thought to leave there. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and she weakly looked up at him. He wet the wash cloth a few times with the water, then held it out to her. “Here.”

She wordlessly took the cloth from him, dabbing first her mouth and then folding the cloth over to wipe her eyes. When it was clear she wasn’t going to start puking again, Quentin gently moved the can away with his foot, giving it a soft kick, and it slid across the floor, coming to a stop on the far corner. He realized almost as he was doing it that this was most likely a bad decision, but he got lucky and the can stayed upright. He then handed her the bottle. “Drink this.” She went to take a long pull, but he put his hand on the bottle, stopping her. “No. Little sips, or you’ll throw it back up again.”

She took a small tentative sip, then another, taking in a deep, steadying breath. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” She looked like she might cry again.

“It’s ok. Really. We’ve all been there.” He smiled at her.

“No, I mean…” she trailed off, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry, Q. For…”

“It’s ok.” He finished quickly, smile falling away, not wanting to have this conversation now. A bone numbing exhaustion was finally settling in. “It’s ok. Really.”

“No, it’s not.”

“No.” He agreed, quietly. He sighed, feeling on the verge of collapse. “Come on, move over.” He made a shooing motion with his hands, kicking off his shoes. She moved to the far side of the bed, curling up with her back towards him. He slid over as well, but kept a respectful distance between them, just staring at the back of her head. He felt someone else come into to the room.

“Hey, shift over.” Eliot was toeing off his shoes and climbed in beside him. Quentin slid over a few inches, lifting his elbow. Eliot wrapped his arm around his middle, long legs tangling with Quentin's own. A few moments later, he felt the bed dip again, and small legs were tangling with theirs, a foot coming to rest on the back of his shin.

He felt the inevitable pull downwards, not even fighting it now, lulled by Eliot’s soft snores in his ear. _Just right._ He fell into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
